


After the Dust Settles

by newmrsdewinter



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Tentatively tags PTSD, Violence, birthright, bitter and jaded awakening kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8906809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newmrsdewinter/pseuds/newmrsdewinter
Summary: A series of vaguely intertwined stories about the Awakening trio in Nohr during Birthright, and the adjustment period that comes after their return to Ylisse. "Laslow, what do you know about betrayal?" asked Marx. "More than you think, if you'll forgive my impertinence, milord."





	1. Betrayal: Inigo

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Birthright.

 

Marx never looked more real to Laslow than he did when he was asleep.

His presence seemed to swallow up the entire room when they slept. It was fascinating to watch him, seeing his hair loose and tangled, one foot hanging off the mattress, and his hand tightly curled around his pillow if it wasn't resting on Laslow's chest, drawing him close. His face was remarkably calm, almost puerile in the torchlight. Laslow had long since drifted off to sleep, his mind teeming with worries of day, soothed by Marx's steady breathing, so warm and reassuring next to his own. 

And then he was being shaken awake.

"Laslow," said Marx quietly. Even though he whispered, Laslow felt the deep baritone of his voice rumble through his bones, anchoring his sleep-addled mind back to the soft, bed warmed sheets of his private chambers. It made him shiver. "Laslow, what do you know about betrayal?"

"This isn't the way I like to be woken up," he whined. "Especially not by you, milord." Their clothes were still strewn on the floor, a cheeky testament to what they had been doing hours before. 

_"Laslow."_

Sighing, Laslow relented. "I know more than you think, if you'll excuse my impertinence," he said, rubbing his eyes when Marx shook him again, his hands gripping him so hard that he was certain he would bruise in the morning.

"You're excused," Marx replied dryly. He peered down at him through golden lashes and half-lidded eyes. "Would you care to elaborate?"

Laslow opened his mouth to speak, but his words were choked before he could force them out. It had been a long time since he let his mind to wander back to thoughts of home, especially the one he had lost to time. It was the one he missed the most. "My father," he said after a long pause. "He was betrayed by the friend he trusted most in the world."

"What happened?" Marx's voice was a soft whisper against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He held him tightly. "Tell me."

"He died."

"How?" pressed Marx.

Laslow closed his eyes. "A thunder spell. His tactician -"

"- the friend," Marx interrupted. He needed clarification. "The one he trusted most."

"Yes."

"Was your father kind?"

"The kindest, and brave, too. There truly is no other man like him."

"Were you there when he died?"

 _What a horrid question_. If Marx meant to rattle him, then it worked. Drawing parallels between Chrom and Garon was the very last thing he wanted to do, even if it would help ease his lord's mind. The two were nothing alike. The very thought that they had similarities made his stomach turn sour. Laslow sat up, suddenly disgusted. He reached for his shirt. "No," he said shortly. "I was only a boy. His knight retrieved his sword for my sister. My mother was never the same."

Marx shot out an arm to pull him back, his fingers suddenly vice-like when wrapped around his wrist. They were cold. "Laslow," he said, and he knew what question was coming next. The furrow in Marx's brow was more telling than the sudden drop in his voice. "If you were ever in a position where you had to -"

"I would never," said Laslow, stopping him short. "My father was nothing like yours, milord. Their situations were different. Even if -" Laslow paused because the scenario was such a ridiculous impossibility "- killing my father would have saved all the friends I lost, I would never do it. Even if everything could have been saved with him dying. Neither would my sister. Our bonds are too great for that."

The sheets rustled when Marx sat up too, suddenly penitent. "Laslow, I had only meant -"

"- Milord, why do you ask?" queried Laslow, louder than he intended, more irked than was appropriate for addressing his liege. 

"It's not often that you speak openly about your past," said Marx, hands now threading through Laslow's hair. "Is it so wrong that I want to know more about you? You, the one I've opened my heart to, more than anyone else."

 _You're lying to me._ "No," said Laslow. _"Why_ do you ask?"

Silence. Now pressed into a corner, Marx pursed his lips together, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He said, almost contritely, "I was thinking that if a man like you could shoulder such a burden, then I could too."

Laslow was speechless. He didn't know that Marx regarded him so highly. He assumed that what they shared was purely physical, but he was wrong and he was suddenly overcome with guilt. Corrin's betrayal never factored into his plans to 'save another world' as he had blithely thought when he first journeyed to Nohr. Everything was different now, all of it was real.  _Anankos sent me here to prevent this from happening, and it did. The blame isn't yours to shoulder alone._  The blame was never Marx's to begin with, but no one would ever be able to convince him that, not even Princess Camilla. "Milord, I never thought -"

"I've followed my father's orders at the cost of my soul, and you were the one who lifted me back up when I needed help the most. I assumed like a fool that -" Marx paused, and his voice almost cracked "- well, in any case, I thought that drawing a parallel would ease my doubts, but I only succeeded in rousing yours."

"I don't know what to say, milord."

"Neither do I," confessed Marx. "Laslow, I apologize."

"You're forgiven, my liege," Laslow chuckled, and he blew the hair out his eyes. "The tables have turned on you, don't you think?" he said, nudging him playfully.

"Don't get used to it."

"I won't, you needn't worry." 

"That's good." Marx closed his eyes, his lips pressed into a tight line like his anxieties sat on his face more easily than the happiness that he claimed that he only felt around him. The Hoshidan stronghold was crawling towards the castle faster than Prince Leo had predicted. Corrin's army was stronger than any of them could have imagined.

"Be kind to yourself, milord," said Laslow quietly. "Lady Corrin's betrayal was not your doing." He knew that his words fell on deaf ears, but he felt that they needed to be said anyway.

The response he received was vague, but it unsettled him deeply. "I understand what needs to be done now," said Marx in a distant voice. "Thank you, Laslow." 

Talk of patricide and sacrifice boded nothing optimistic for the future, certainly nothing good for their relationship if he could call it that. A new boundary had been drawn between them, and Laslow dared not cross it.

Marx drew the sheets, and Laslow lay down on his side, resting his back against Marx's warm chest. "One last question, Laslow."

He sighed inwardly. "Yes, milord?"

"Your father," Marx said carefully. His tone was almost pleading. "Do you think he forgave his tactician?"

Now Laslow smiled, and it was the first genuine grin that he felt in a long time. The memories of a life long past spun through his mind like a carousel. _My story had a happy ending, and yours will too._ "Yes, a thousand times yes, milord. I can assure you that he did."

Even though Marx's arms held Laslow tightly against his bare chest, almost suffocatingly so, a decision had been made in the tempestuous sea of his heart. Later, Laslow realized that those final words about forgiveness were the death knell that tolled the end of Marx's life. 

 


	2. Lovesick: Severa

 Lady Camilla had such soft hair.

The lilac hues of her curls were almost rosy pink in the golden lamplight of her private chambers, the shadows dancing on the crown of her head as the flames flickered out to embers. Outside, dusk had fallen over Nohr, the sky darkened by a rare tinge of navy that couldn’t be seen during day.

In the past, Selena could almost see the stars from the balcony in Camilla’s tower, but the princess had long since shuttered her windows and bolted the doors after Corrin’s betrayal. No light and no dawn would see her despair. So immersed in her grief was the princess that it had only taken a threat of bodily harm from King Garon to coax her down to the castle for a state dinner.

"Selena dear, you've got quite the knack for braids," said Camilla lightly. Preening in the mirror, she tilted her head, admiring the way Selena had tamed her curls into an elegant braided knot at the nape of her neck. It was held securely in place with a ridiculous amount pins. "I never thought to style it this way. It's so simple, even Corrin could try it when she comes home. Who taught you how to do this?"

Resisting the urge to beam with pride, Selena placed the brush back on the vanity. "Nobody, milady," she said smugly. "Someone close to me had hair almost as long as yours. Long and blue and split ends everywhere. I always braided it for her before we went to sleep 'cause she didn't know how to do it herself."

"She sounds lovely," said Camilla absently, reaching for her rouge and nearly knocking the pot over when she reached for the wrong one. She added a touch of it to the tops her cheeks and blended outwards. "Did she cut her hair short and you had to stop?"

Selena flushed. "Um, no, milady. She's - she's - "

_Lucina isn’t dead. She’s in another world, far, far away from this one._

Camilla blinked, realizing her faux-pas even though she hadn’t made one. "Oh, my dear! I'm so sorry." She held a hand to her breast, upset. "I didn't mean to offend."

"No, it's okay! It's fine, milady! I just miss her a lot, that's all. In fact, she’s actually -"

But Camilla had turned away, rising slowly from her seat at the vanity to assess the evening gown that was laid out on her bed. "Selena, if you could help fasten the stays, the dress is rather difficult around the waist….”

Selena stood to attention immediately. “Yes, right away, milady. Can’t have these people thinking that you’ve got a lazy retainer, huh?”

“No one would ever think that, my dear.”  

The corset, wyvernbone and imported straight from Cyrkensia, shouldn’t have pinched as hard as the metal plate that Camilla wore into battle. Even so, the princess still winced when Selena gave a particularly sharp tug on the lacings, looping it until it was secure enough for her liking.

When she finished, Camilla was immaculate in a floor-length evening gown that showed off the fullness of her figure to perfection. “You’re quite lucky, Selena,” she said, twisting in front of the mirror to appraise herself. “Not many of us have close friends that we can call our own. She must have been very special. I’ve never heard you speak of anyone so fondly.”

Selena, suddenly lost and very alone, gazed into the hearth. Camilla’s gown was blue, a deep midnight hue that mirrored rare Nohrian nights when the skies were clear. Like the stars, the tiny jewels adorned on the gown twinkled and glimmered in the torchlight when she walked.

_“There’s stars in your eyes tonight.” Severa’s voice was a murmur against Lucina’s hair. She took a strand and twisted it around her finger._

_Lucina’s sigh turned into a giggle when Severa gave her a retaliatory poke in the ribs. “You’re such a sap.”_

_“Gawds, I’m trying to be romantic here, don’t spoil the mood...”_

_Suddenly Severa was flush with Lucina’s chest, and small kisses were being pressed all over her face. “The mood can never be spoiled when you’re around.”_

Selena’s mouth was dry. “Yes.” Flushing deeply, she busied her hands with the Camilla’s discarded robes, suddenly fascinated with the wrinkles in the fabric. “Yeah, she was really something.”

“What was her name?”

“Huh?”

“Your friend,” Camilla repeated, her smile soft and knowing. “What was her name?”

_Severa was rocked to her feet by the blast, her scream ripped from her throat when a storm of fire and rubble rained down from the shattered ceiling of the Castle Ylisstol._

_“SO ENDS THE HUMAN RACE.”_

_Darkness engulfed the world until the sky was set ablaze by the glowing red orbs of Grima’s eyes, lighting the sky like a dying sun. When Severa finally came to, she was being dragged down the crumbled remains of the East Wing._

_Brady was screaming something incoherent in her ear, and Owain, yanking her by the arm, thrust a sword into her hands, urging her to fight when she knew she only had enough strength left to run._

_They came to a sudden halt before a broken window, granting them a full, terrifying view of the castle foyer below. Owain caught Severa by the shoulders, spun her around, and pointed with a single, shaking finger. “There she is! Quick, but a moment more, and --”_

_Severa didn’t hear the rest. Lucina, a tiny pinprick in the horizon, unsheathed Falchion and stood her ground against the dragon, gripping the sword held aloft in her trembling arms._

_Grima’s presence swallowed up the blackened heavens above, its head rearing back and shaking the foundations of the earth when it unleashed a sinister laugh. A wave of debris crashed to the floor when the dragon’s roar echoed through the castle. Its voice was high, cold, and clear, seeming to issue from the walls themselves._

_“YOUR MOTHER AND FATHER ARE DEAD, TINY ONE.”_

_“Save her!” With sobbing gasps, Severa shook Brady by the shoulders. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, her face crumpling as Grima plunged its gaping maw towards Lucina. “Something, do something!”_

“Selena?” Camilla supported Selena’s shoulders with both hands, easing her onto the ottoman before the vanity. Her sharp, pointed nails dug into her skin when she sunk to her knees. “Dear, you’re shaking like a leaf. Are you unwell?”

The rest of the memory was a blur after Brady managed to find his Rescue Staff. Later, she learned that he and Owain had just pillaged the castle armory for all the remaining healing items that were left by the soldiers. They found her unconscious in the rubble after Grima erupted from the sky.

Camilla bumped her forehead onto Selena’s, her brows drawn together and tears welling in her eyes. Though beautifully resplendent in an evening gown, Selena could still see the gauntness in her lady’s cheeks, the dark circles below her eyes, and even the way her breath hitched as though always on the verge of crying.

Princess Camilla may have fooled Marx and the rest of the Nohrian court, but Selena knew better. Camilla was as frail as a glass heart that threatened to shatter at any moment in time, and she would not have her break on her account.

With a warm smile, Selena nodded reassuringly, placing her hands over Camilla’s cold ones on her shoulders. “Her name was Luci,” she said. “Luci, and she survived.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I wrote this waaaay faster than I expected. I've had these scenes floating around in my head for the better part of a month, so I guess that's why it's flowing so easily. Part 2 of Severa's time in Nohr is half-written, and I have an idea or two for Owain. 
> 
> I don't know who's going to be in the next chapter, but I can promise that it'll be in Ylisse!


	3. Craven: Owain

     In Ylisse, sweet yellow primroses heralded the coming of spring.

When Owain first became Leo's retainer, he had been pleased to discover that Leo cultivated primroses in the castle gardens through a dragon vein. They were violet crumpled little things that wilted before they bloomed, yellow in the center and soft to touch. Odin Dark was tasked with watering them when his lord was away. Niles had been strictly forbidden from touching them because he thought they were weeds. 

Hundreds of primroses must have been blooming in the meadows outside Ylisstol, blanketing the sea of long grass in patches of yellow and white. The sun was blinding in the heat, but only because Owain had become so accustomed to the dark in Nohr.

Castle Ylisstol loomed steadily in the distance, a shining white pinprick against the Feroxi mountains in the north. 

“Almost there,” murmured Severa. “I hope they’re all home.”

“My parents, surely,” Inigo said, but he lacked his usual energy. “There’s nowhere for them to go but the castle.”

“I dunno,” she said. “Maybe Chrom’s in Plegia.”

 _“Your_ father's more likely to be in Plegia than mine.”  

Owain remained silent, his mind elsewhere. Neither Inigo nor Severa commented when he traded his tome for a killing edge when they stopped through Chon’sin on the way home. The only memento he kept from Nohr was the circlet that he wore with his sorcerer’s robes. He hadn’t touched any magic since his last battle at Lord Leo’s side.

_King Leo was dwarfed by the thorny crown that sat too heavily on his head. He trembled as he stood on the dais, struggling to balance the weight of Siegfried and Brynhildr in each of his hands. No amount of magic had been able to hide the gray in his cheeks or the sag in his posture as he recited his vows. Marx was dead. Elise, buried in lilies, had just been lowered into the rain-sodden ground._

_Leo stood firmly because he had nothing left to lose._

_“I’ll be better than he was,” he whispered once seated on the throne. His voice was all breath, echoing in the empty hall. “I swear it.”_

Owain turned to his friends helplessly. His voice caught in his throat. “We should have said goodbye,” he said thickly. “We should have -”

_We should have stayed._

He stopped, immobilized by the enormity of it all. A warm wave of breeze brushed over his face, sweeping the long grass in the meadow like a sea of yellow and green. It smelled sweet, of primroses and spring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so I said in the tags last week that regular updates aren't guaranteed, but???
> 
> This is part 1 of Owain's POV! Part 2 will be chapter 4. I made it separate because I don't think the tone of this excerpt fits very well with what I have planned next. That scene has been sitting in my head since I finished the game.


	4. Traumatized: Owain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild trigger warning for PTSD

Surprisingly, Owain burst into tears before Brady.

The shining white city surrounding Castle Ylisstol was a storybook fantasy out of any Nohrian fairy tale, but it seemed no different than how Owain had left it five years before. Great ribbons of white, blue, and gold from Chrom’s coronation still festooned the market square, fluttering gently in the breeze. Along the street, cramped wooden stalls with brightly colored roofings boasted a dizzying abundance of food, so much that it left a bad taste in Owain's mouth. The cobblestones felt familiar under his boots, and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend that they were the same that were in Nohr.

Owain’s feet led him to one of the orphanages on the other side of the city. Heavy footsteps and the creak of a staff being dragged across a wooden floor sounded from inside the building. He hesitated, almost frightened to see who it belonged to. He pushed the door open.

“Brady.”

A man with poor posture had his back turned away from him, fiddling with some healing tinctures on a shelf. “If you need help, you gotta sign up at the door before you see a cleric. Otherwise, I ain’t touchin’ ya.”

“Brady.” Owain’s voice sounded meek to his own ears.

“Y’didn’t hear me the first time? I _said_ -”

“ _Brady_.”

Brady froze. Slowly, he turned around. His face broke when he registered the sword and yellow garb. “My gods, it’s you _._ ”

Owain walked into the light. For once, he couldn’t think of anything to say. “I’m back,” he said finally. He teared up.

All the air was knocked out of his lungs when Brady pounced on him like a tiger, embracing him tightly. It didn’t seem like he intended to let go anytime soon. “You damn fool!” he cried, whacking him hard on the head with his staff. “ _Five_ years you were gone! Five -”

“Stop,” said Owain, his voice muffled by Brady’s robes. “Don’t say anything. Please.” He clonked his head into Brady’s shoulder and began to cry, quietly at first, but louder when he felt Brady’s tears streaking down his neck. There were great gobs of snot rolling down his nostrils along with the tears, and he could barely stand from the effort of supporting Brady’s full weight and his staff. They sunk to the ground, sobbing loudly. He was still wiping his eyes when Brady sat him on an empty bed in the wing.

A long moment passed between them as they sized each other up.

“You really beefed up between now and then,” Brady said appreciatively. “When was the last time you ate a vegetable?”

Owain laughed through his tears. “If I recall correctly, you were the one who fed it to me.”

“Oh, c’mon. That can’t be true.”

“Actually, it is.”

“Where the hell’ve you been?” Brady finally demanded. “Uncle Chrom stopped sendin’ out search parties after the second year, and -”

“Search parties?” repeated Owain, astonished. “We told you that we were leaving for an adventure.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t say when you were gonna be back,” Brady retorted. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Gods, that’s just like you, y’know? Runnin’ off on adventures and not tellin’ nobody ‘bout where or when -”

“- Spare me your accusations, please!” whined Owain. He buried his face in his hands. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Brady was indignant. “Since when’ve I called you a liar when you’re spinnin’ one of your tales?”

 _That’s exactly what I mean._ “It’s not a tale this time,” Owain said, shaking his head. His voice was still thick from crying. “This one doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“What? What kind of adventure was this?”

Owain closed his eyes.

_When Odin found Leo, he was kneeling in a pool of blood, picking at his brother’s tattered cape like a lost child. The floor was a red smear where Elise’s lifeless body lay. Her hair was carefully gathered to one side, finger-combed into a simple plait by Leo’s clumsy fingers._

_Leo didn’t look up when Odin approached him. “Where is Niles?” he asked in a flat, distant voice._

_“Tending to the wounded,” said Odin, careful not to slip on the ground. The air reeked of something metallic and stale, it was so strong that he was overcome by a wave of nausea. He swallowed it back. “Milord, I must insist -”_

_“I can’t remember the last time I’ve spent this much time with Marx and Elise,” said Leo suddenly, looking up at him with wide, beseeching eyes. His skin crawled. “I’ve been so preoccupied with my own concerns, I didn’t know…” He gazed back at Marx’s body, waiting for an answer he would never receive. “I didn’t know.”_

“Nothing,” Owain said, struggling to bite back the bitterness in his voice. “Nothing but a surfeit of tragedy and failure and death. Not a tale worth a five-year absence.”

Brady whistled. He stood, dusting off his robes and picking up a broom to sweep the floor. Five years had passed, but he could still read Owain’s moods better than anyone else. “Not all adventures need happy endings to be worth having,” he said quietly. “It can’t have been a waste of time if it took you this long to come home. All the places you’ve been….all the people you met on the way. I bet they were amazing.”

Owain’s voice caught in his throat. “Yeah,” he said, eyes misting over again. “They were.”

“So it wasn’t a waste of time,” Brady concluded. “You made it back in one piece. That’s somethin’ to be proud of.”

“Not everyone came out in one piece.”

“What?” asked Brady sharply. “Something happen to Severa and Inigo?”

Owain shook his head. “No, not them. A friend of mine, two of them, actually....broken in spirit and weighted by burdens they don't need to carry. I….I couldn’t….”

_I wouldn’t carry it with them._

Brady gave him a look of pity that he would have resented if they both weren't crying. “Give it some time and I’ll lend an ear. You wanna hear what I’ve been up to while you were away?”

“Yes, please,” said Owain, thankful for the respite. It gave him time to think, calm his breathing, but it didn’t work. Seeing Brady again in the flesh was dizzying, and it left him reeling even though he was seated.

“....bored as hell since Gerome flew back to the valley, and Cynthia went with him, so Kjelle’s been askin’ me to train with her….”

Owain closed his eyes. Ylisse had always felt like a far off dream when he was in Nohr. The normalcy of sitting down while listening to Brady speak set him on edge, making it impossible to pay attention. His mind wandered.

Brady kicked up a cloud of dust when he sneezed. “....spear throwin’ near the pegasi stables, and y’know, it’s -”

_“Weapons are deadly little things, aren’t they Odin?”_

“- You can use spears now?” asked Owain, suddenly interested. “My perspicacious priest, why?”

He gave him an odd look. “I’ve helpin’ out Kjelle with training since Cynthia’s gone. I got trouble handlin’ the bigger ones ‘cause of my back, but….”

 _“Trouble with spears, you say?”_ Owain could envision Niles smirking before he could hear him. " _I can handle spears of all shapes and sizes in ways you couldn’t imagine. Care to try me out, Odin?”_

“My interest is piqued, my libidinous companion,” said Odin. “You claim to have a collection spears?”

“Uh, no?” said Brady, pausing his sweeping. “Didn’t mention nothin’ about a collection. I just use the ones that Kjelle lets me borrow when she’s in a good mood. One time, I actually….”

 _“Not just spears,”_ _Niles says, sneaking a sly look at Lord Leo. “Rods, too, like the ones the Hoshidans use. But not as tiny. You know how it is with those people across the border. Odin, you seem to be quite the connoisseur of men’s rods. Mine is yours to peruse. Shall we compare sizes?”_

“I am truly humbled, dearest friend,” said Odin. He ignored the part about comparing sizes. “Have you named your weapon?”

Brady gave him a pained look. “Damn, you don’t listen, do you? I _said_ , I don’t have a collection. All those words comin’ outta your mouth, and you don’t bother to listen -”

_In the distance, Leo makes an annoyed huff, but Niles doesn't try concealing his grin. “Perhaps you could lend me your expertise. I’ve got ‘The Turbulent Mistleweiner,’ and the ‘Weapon of Ass Destruction,’ to name a paltry few. Would you care to do the honors for Lord Marx’s lance?”_

“The honor is mine!” declared Odin, springing to his feet. “Niles, how does the “Crimson Swollen Rod’ sound to you? How well does it roll off your tongue?”

_Niles bursts into laughter. “It rolls quite well, Odin. What do you think of -”_

_"Quiet,” Leo snaps, slamming his book shut. “Don’t the two of you have work that needs to get done?”_

“Argh, mock me not, Lord Leo! Weapon naming is the most -”

“- Owain, who’re you talking to?” A new voice cut through the daydream, anchoring Owain back to reality. Brady was looking at him strangely. “Who’s Lord Leo?”

Owain’s blood ran cold. The room was silent, save for the voices clamoring for attention in his head. He sat back down, dazed. Niles and Leo were nowhere to be seen. A sudden chill swept through the room once he registered that he was alone.

When he didn’t respond, Brady peered down at him, concerned. “You doin’ okay? Hey, can you hear me?”

Owain sprung back to his feet, too agitated to sit still. The room was too small, the air too thick to breathe. “I’ve cast a dark pall over our fated reunion. I need a moment,” he said shortly, ignoring Brady’s protests and heading out the door.

But Leo was right in front of him, blocking his way out. There was a knife stuck through his chest. Looking down at his hands, Owain saw blood. _“I’ve found an invaluable ally in you, Odin. Don’t leave me when I need your help the most.”_

All the blood left his head. He staggered against the wall, bent over his knees because his vision went black. He couldn’t breathe. “Where’s my mother?” he gasped, clutching his head. “I need to see her.”

Warm, rough hands caught him before he fell. “Easy, easy there! Let’s try calmin’ down for a second, okay?”

“Don’t touch me!” Owain shoved him off. “I need to see -”

"She’s not here,” said Brady gently. He tried easing him into a chair. “She moved to Ferox with your pa after she had the kid. Now could you _please_ sit down?”

Owain nodded mutely, not knowing what else to do. He was shaking terribly. Sighing, Brady took a seat right next to him, throwing an arm over his shoulder and gripping him tightly. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, so don’t worry, alright?”

He leaned into Brady’s arms, letting himself be held. “Brady, I’m -”

“- don’t be sorry,” said Brady gruffly. “S’my fault for not seein’ the signs sooner. Take some time off and we’ll go to Ferox together.”

They sat together like that for a long moment, hands clasped together until his breathing returned to normal. This wasn’t the fated homecoming that he dreamed about in Nohr. Great white doves hadn’t been released to announce his arrival, no fanfare of trumpets had been blown when they kissed. There were no minstrels to herald his daring feats in battle, but in the end, this was all he needed: the comfort of knowing that Brady’s arms would never let him go until he needed him to.

“Brady,” he said, nudging him with his head. His ears were still ringing, but he needed to say something. “Brady.”

“Yeah?”

He pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I missed you.”

Brady sighed again, ruffling his hair. He smiled, and it was the most beautiful sight Owain had ever seen, brighter than any Ylissean sunrise. “I missed you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (｡•́︿•̀｡)
> 
> Big thanks to Arihime for the quick read! I hope all of you had a happy holiday! I'm on vacation right now (hehe I'm in vegas), but I have a lot of time to write. Thank you for sticking with this little story! 
> 
> "The Crimson Swollen Rod" and the "Turbulent Mistleweiner" come from the Japanese translation of Odin and Zero's supports, btw. "Weapon of Ass Destruction" was an embarrassing Google search. 
> 
> I don't claim to be an expert on dissociation or PTSD, so if there is anything that needs to be corrected, please let me know!


	5. Flustered: Inigo

 

All the trouble began when Selena noticed the hickey that was blooming on Laslow's neck.

He was grateful for the high collars of his uniform because it really was an ugly thing, wide and purple and bruising quite badly in the dip of his collarbone. But, he realized to his dismay the next morning, not even the highest, stiffest collar in his wardrobe could conceal a hickey that would escape Selena’s notice.

"What's that?" she demanded, yanking his collar down to examine the thing at eye-level. "That’s the worst rash I have ever seen."

Laslow made a horrible aborted strangled noise, shoving her off and pulling his collar back up. "Why do you give me that kind of attention when I don't want it?" he whined. "Without fail, every time. If you wanted a hug, just say so!"

"Ugh, as if!" She invaded his personal space again to take another closer look. "Who'd want to give _you_ a hug? Wait,” she said, eyes widening when his shirt was pulled sufficiently down. “That's a hickey!"

"Yes," Laslow said tightly because he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he dared to lie about it. "A hickey, and it's none of your -”

"- That thing is massive," she said, finally releasing him from her headlock. She sounded more impressed than revolted. "I hope Benny didn't give that to you."

Laslow shuddered. "I don't think I'm his type."

The conversation was far from over, but they walked in relative silence as they navigated through the dark twisting alleys that made up Krakenburg's underground city. Selena wasn’t an uncommon sight in the slums from her missions for Lady Camilla (and Laslow always hesitated to ask what they were), but his presence drew panicked murmurs from the smallfolk as they completed their patrol around the square. One royal retainer was cause for concern, but two always meant trouble. 

Flickering shadows from the torches on the shuttered buildings threw the cobblestone in a sickly yellow light. Laslow couldn't take the silence anymore. He chalked it up to the narrow passageways, finding them to be suffocating. Casting a wary look to their surroundings, he said to her in a hushed whisper, "I had asked Lord Marx not to leave any marks, but he -"

"W-What!?" Selena did a double-take, her eyes darting between his red face and the equally red hickey on his neck. “ _Lord_ _-!”_

"D-Don't look at me like that! I thought you -"

"What kind of friend do you think I am!?" Selena half-screeched, startling a group of crows from their perch on the eaves. "What, I'd just _assume_ you were sleeping with your -"

"- just say it louder, why don’t you,” Laslow said peevishly, shushing her before they could attract unwanted attention. “I don’t think they heard you in Macarath. And if you really must know, you-know-who and I are just spending some extra time together, that's all.”

“Like dating?”

Laslow gazed up at the bleak Nohrian sky. He’d never get used to it, all storm clouds and darkness and no sun. “I suppose, if you put it that way.”

The truth was, of course, was that Laslow could hardly call Lord Marx his boyfriend because that was just ridiculous, but the thought did manage to make him smile. Like all relationships, it was complicated, time travel and power imbalance notwithstanding. But more than that, Laslow found it unusual. Uncharacteristic. Marx, so fond of labels and boundaries and names, had never taken any lengths to define what their relationship was, and it mostly consisted of clandestine meetings and one-sided flirting.

_“Erhm,” Laslow began awkwardly, peering up at Lord Marx. He retracted his hand when he figured that it had been resting on Marx’s shoulder too long. “Perhaps you could try getting on your knees?”_

_“My knees?” repeated Marx. His eyes made a meaningful flick down to Laslow’s crotch. “I kneel for no man.”_

_“Not like that!” Laslow squeaked. “I didn’t mean like that! You’re just -” His words failed him when Marx lifted a brow “- so tall! I can’t kiss you from down here, you know.”_

_“And getting on my knees would solve that?”_

_“No,” Laslow admitted. “I just had a feeling you’d be nicer to me if you were below eye-level.”_

_Marx ignored that. “This kissing business is much more complicated than I thought. It’s quite clear that I have much to learn from you, Laslow.”_

_Laslow’s flush hadn’t abated. “Your mind is much dirtier than my own, milord,” he said half-accusingly. “This surprises me.”_

_Marx chuckled and took his reading glasses off, tucking them safely into his pocket. Slowly, he cupped his cold hands around Laslow’s cheeks, and then stooped down low to place an uncertain kiss on his lips, and then another on his forehead._

_But before he could pull away, Laslow’s hand met the back of Marx’s neck and he caught him closer to kiss him back, harder this time, wet and sloppy. Once he felt Marx sigh into the embrace, he slid his tongue between Marx’s lips, grasping the lapels of his jacket to ghost his fingers across the bare skin underneath his shirt._

_They parted, gasping for air. Laslow was overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness. He touched his lips, still tingling from the hard press of Marx’s mouth against his own. He realized with a start that Marx's hands were resting on his waist with a familiarity that he still couldn’t get used to._

_“A dirty mind, Laslow?” said Marx, breathless from the effort. “I blame that on your influence.”_

_And Laslow couldn't find anything wrong with that._

They had already reached the end of their perimeter by the time Selena found her voice. "No," she said, shaking her head. "That's not possible."

"What?" asked Laslow. "What’s not possible?”

Selena made an exasperated huff. "You can't just _date_ the Crown Prince of Nohr."

"Oh, yes you can," said Laslow gleefully. "You so can."  

“Gawds, whatever!” She kicked a pebble with the toe of her boot, watching it skid across the cobblestone. “I mean, I get it, I really do. But we’re in the middle of a war, y’know?”

Laslow had the sense to feel a little chastened by that. "Well,” he began. “You know how it was with my parents."

"But that's....different," she said weakly once she must have realized that it wasn't. "Your mom -”

“- was technically a retainer who comforted Exalt when he needed it most, and she had me as a result. The only difference,” said Laslow, walking out of her reach because he anticipated her punch to his shoulder like a sixth sense, “is that _I_ won't get pregnant when Lord Marx -”

“- Details!” Selena moaned, plugging her fingers into her ears. “I don't wanna hear any details.”

But Laslow was already grinning like an idiot by the time they reached the castle gates, reminiscing the simmering feeling of Marx’s warm lips sucking the hickey on his neck.

Selena would never know that he had at least three more in places she’d never guess.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how to write laslow: pretend he's oikawa and CRY
> 
> being sick + spending time at home = writing literally everything except the things i should be writing


	6. Righteous: Severa

 

A weeping boy kneeled before an open grave.

His shirt hung loosely off his shoulder. Behind him, a man yanked him back by the hair, stretching his thin neck and forcing his gaze on the group of men looming before him. Tear tracks ran down his dirty face. He scrunched his eyes shut, whimpering with quiet sobs.

“What’s going on here?” asked Selena, white in the lips.

Lord Leo and Lady Camilla came to a halt on the trodden path and Selena dismounted from her pegasus. It cantered back with a distressed snort, hooves sinking into the mud. She made soothing strokes down its mane until it calmed down. They were quite a distance away, but the land was flat, granting them a clear view of the scene unfolding at the edge of the marsh.

There was a sudden glint of silver - one of the men, burly and red-faced, unsheathed a dull blade a handspans wider than Selena’s old silver sword. He held the blade high. The boy shrieked at the sight of it, thrashing so wildly that his arms and neck needed to be restrained by three more men. His eyes, yellow and crazed, were alive with fear.

“It’s an execution,” Beruka replied when no one else did.

“What? What’d he do?”

Beruka shrugged. “Could’ve been anything.”

“Anything?” repeated Selena. Her voice carried a mild note of hysteria. “What do you mean, _anything?_ He’s just a kid, what could he possibly -”

“Enough,” said Camilla tautly. She yanked the reins of her horse and it snorted, steam exiting its nostrils as the executioner brought the blade down.

Selena did not cower so much as flinch when the head bounced into the grave. The boy’s neck was thin enough for the blade to cleave right through in one swift stroke.  She turned away, too overcome when his blood spattered across the dead grass, droplets landing in streaks into the murky water of the marsh.

Silently, she remounted her pegasus, kicking it to an abrupt trot. She dug her heels into the stirrups and clenched her fists until she knew her knuckles were white beneath her gloves. Her tears stung in her eyes.

As the men scattered away, some made a weak effort to kick the rest of the body into the muddy grave. A few peasants with shovels followed close behind. They regarded the royal family with distant eyes.

Thick balmy fog held sway over the marshland stretching past the horizon. As they journeyed northbound, the pools from the fens receded into earthy banks, marking the border between the bogs and the mountainous forest.

Once they entered the woods, a stony silence hung over the party as one hour stretched into another. Wind swept through the trees, a languorous sigh that chilled Selena straight to the quick. They walked in twos along the beaten path: Camilla and Leo spoke together in hushed tones at the front, and Selena and Niles lingered behind in the back. Beruka scouted for them far ahead in the thicket.

Her fingers combed through the mane of her pegasus, and her hand, still shaking, trailed down to pat its black, downy feathers. As though sensing her disquiet, the beast nickered at her in a low croon. “He died with honor,” she said to herself quietly.

Niles caught her words before they were lost to the wind. “What was that, Selena?” he called, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Did you say something about _honor?”_

She ignored him. Past experience had taught her that reacting to his taunts was the fastest way to incite him further.

“You know," he continued, licking his lips, "if that blade were any duller, they'd have to hack that boy’s head off like piece of meat. A fitting end, don't you think?”

The flush in her cheeks flared to a blaze, but she swallowed back her retort when she realized that she now had an audience. Lord Leo regarded her strangely from his horse, but his taut scrutiny was nothing compared to the waves of silent disapproval being issued from Lady Camilla.

All of them were waiting for her to respond. “You heard me,” she snapped, meeting Niles’ challenging smirk with a scowl that was fierce enough to peel paint. “I said that he died honorably. You got a problem with that?”

“I do, actually. I can elaborate if you’d like.”

“You’d better!”

Niles clicked his tongue and leaned forward at her, as though debating a fine point at a dinner party. “He died like a pathetic dog, screaming and squealing to the end. It’s no wonder that a girl so used to indulgence like you should become overstimulated by such a display. How quaint.”

“You’re despicable,” she spat at him. “What do _you_ know about honor?”

“More than you, I’d wager.”

She laughed in his face. “Oh, I get it now,” she sneered. “I’m supposed to sit here and wait for a _filthy thieving street rat from the sticks_ to tell me what it means to be honorable. I don’t think so, you foul, one-eyed hypocrite. I’ve got more honor in my left pinky than you’ve got in your whole body.”  

Nothing could stop the glint in his eye. If anything, he seemed excited by her insults. “What was he to you?” he crooned. “A starving, lonesome puppy? _Pathetic_. You’d play the part of the bitch quite well, Selena. I don’t see why -”

Her fist met his jaw before he finished his sentence. Niles staggered backwards holding his nose, but he was laughing at her in short, hacking coughs.

Selena leaped off her pegasus. She vaulted him up by the collar to punch again, bringing his face so close to hers that their foreheads were almost touching.

“You're a feisty bitch,” he gasped at her in shaky breaths. She gagged; his breath smelled foul. “You'd do more than _squeal_ once your head hits the -”

She slammed her forehead into his nose and he crumpled into the mud. He didn't get back up. Selena thought she heard Camilla shouting her name, but she was already worlds away.

Her voice rang clear and true in the night. “There’s nothing noble about dying by the sword unless you die with honor -”

_"- and then it's not only noble, but brave,” said Frederick. “Would you like to become a pegasus knight like your mother when you're older?"_

_In the sanctuary of Castle Ylisstol, Severa bobbed her head eagerly at her father, feeling her neck pop from the effort. With a soft smile, Frederick lifted her up and rocked her gently in his lap. "You don't need to be a knight to protect your liege. You can be anything you like - I'll support you no matter what."_

_Severa fell silent. “Cynthia told me something scary yesterday,” she muttered, picking at the buttons on his waistcoat._

_“That girl has a tendency to talk nonsense,” said Frederick. “What did she say?”_

_“She said that you’re gonna die protecting Exalt Chrom.”_

_Frederick stiffened. “That…may very well be the case in the future.”_

_Her head snapped up, frightened to see that his expression was as somber as her own. “Why?” she demanded. “I don’t want you to die!”_

_Frederick opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Eventually, after collecting his thoughts, he said in a measured breath, “As a knight, I am often told that dying for your liege is the highest honor you could achieve, but I’ve come to think differently in the years I’ve served the Exalt.”_

_What was heartbreaking was that he never denied her outright - his death was a truth that he had sworn as a knight, and it was one that she would have to accept as well. “You can’t leave me,” she said in a small voice. “Father, please.”_

_“Severa, I want you to seize life and live in happiness. That’s what every parent wants for their child, and I am no exception. The man who clings to life kicking and screaming has more honor than the man who faces death proudly.”_

_“Why?”_

_Frederick smiled at her gently. “Because he has the will to live and fight another day. By living, you could do much greater good for your liege than dying to save them once.”_

_In years long after, Severa wondered if her father’s candor stemmed from how they both must have known that their time together would soon come to an end. Even as a child, she had seen firsthand what horrors lay outside the castle walls. She wiped her eyes before he could see her crying, but he pushed her hands away, gently dabbing her tears with his handkerchief._

_“In my heart, I am your father before I am the Exalt’s knight. And that,” he said, pressing soothing circles on her back to lull her to sleep, “is my greatest honor.”_

Leo’s clipped reprimand shattered her thoughts. “Oh, get up!” he snapped at Niles, who was still prone on the ground. “If you two are quite finished, I’d like to make for the fortress before supper gets cold.”

Selena blinked. The woods rematerialized around her, dead trees swaying in the darkness. She heard the gurgle of water; there must have been a stream nearby. She stepped over Niles and climbed back up her pegasus.

In the deepest dark of the woods, along black winding paths and the rot and vapor of earth, Selena learned that there was no honor to be found in Nohr. But the light of Ylisse burned brightly in her heart, a flame that was stoked by the memory of white cloth fluttering in the wind, and a head tumbling down an unmarked grave.

 

* * *

 

“ _I_ _won't deny that Niles deserves a lashing for his tongue, but I do wish you'd pick your fights more carefully_ ,” was all that Lady Camilla had said on the matter when they exited the woods.

Once they arrived at their destination, a violet-gray dusk had crept over the mountains. The Northern Fortress was the cruelest building Selena had ever seen. Built entirely of black stone, its walls were so dark that they almost blended into the night, its tallest spires reaching into the sky like a clawed fist.

There was a girl waiting for them at the gate. Her hair was stark white, emitting a gossamer radiance in the dark. She rushed towards them with an excited squeal, and Selena was astonished to find that she was almost tall enough to pull Leo off his horse.

The girl did exactly that, pressing a multitude of kisses all over his face. He spluttered but made no motion to stop her.

“Where’s Elise?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes searching their party. “Why isn’t she with you?”

Camilla enveloped the girl in a bone-crushing hug. “Poor Elise. I’m afraid she’s at home with a bad cold. But more importantly,” she said, slightly aghast, “you’re so pale! Is Jakob feeding you well? Do I need to have a talk with him?”

“Oh, no!” she laughed. “I spent all day reading the books you lent me that I forgot to eat. Oh, Leo,” she said, eyes passing over Niles and his bloodied nose, “I thought you said you have two retainers now.”

Leo’s lip curled. “I’ve left Odin with Elise to keep her company while we were gone.”

“That reminds me,” said Camilla, ushering Selena to the front. “This is Selena. She’s as deadly as she is adorable, but I do hope the two of you become very good friends.”

There was an otherworldly quality to the girl that made Selena look at her, look away, and then peer back at her again. Her presence sent a richness to the air that was both intimidating and unsettling, almost if she had been touched by fate itself.

“Hello,” she greeted Selena, and her voice was sweet, carrying the chime of bells. “My name is Corrin.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> believe it or not, the execution was actually a deleted scene from Morning Glory. 
> 
> One big thing to credit here: Fred's "By living, you could do much greater good for your liege than dying to save them once" comes straight from his Future Past dialogue with Gerome. I was so moved by it that I just had to include it here. 
> 
> Next chapter takes place in Regna Ferox :D

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually, I'll write a chapter with Chrom and Olivia, and I've been playing with a couple ideas with Selena and Odin and their respective lieges. And Niles. I can't not write about Niles. I've been thinking about this fic all semester and I FINALLY GET TO WRITE IT. 
> 
> I don't have my copy of Fates on me, so if there are any inconsistencies with the game, please let me know!
> 
> In addition to Chrom!Inigo, I'll be using Lon'qu!Owain, and Frederick!Severa in future chapters.


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